


Ask And You Shall Receive

by HoneyGrunge



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, F/M, First Time, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Short & Sweet, Smut, Spontaneous sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21629728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyGrunge/pseuds/HoneyGrunge
Summary: Being a farmhand and working at your parents' inn is far from entertaining. That is, until a certain quiet patron stops by for the night.
Relationships: Dyn Jarren/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 15
Kudos: 364





	Ask And You Shall Receive

**Author's Note:**

> I finally watched The Mandalorian and couldn't sleep until I wrote SOME sort of smut of Dyn. I'm tired and it's 6 am so hopefully it isn't as bad as I think it is. Knock yourself out!
> 
> Also, in case any subscribers to Private Sith Whore see this, yes, I'm still going to add to that fic at some point. Now that I have access to Rebels through Disney+ I can watch it all and finally continue the fic, but it'll still be slow going because of college.

The chaff is thick this year, blown up into your face at almost every turn. The goggles save you from the worst of it but you can still feel it swirling up your nose, threatening a constant sneeze that keeps your eyes streaming and your throat swollen.

"Kriff," you whisper, careful not to say it too loud for fear of a knock upside the head. Farm folk here are rough, and they have their share of misogynistic expectations. Ladies keep their knees together, they cross their legs at the ankle, they don't use mercenary talk.

And they certainly don't daydream filthy scenarios about their mysterious houseguests.

Your mother calls for the evening meal, finally allowing you to slump back against a prickly bale and wince down at your bloodied fingers. The gloves protect from the brunt of the damage, but this year you hadn't been able to afford a new pair. Glancing down at your lap reveals streaks of blood mixed with the grain dust. Pride swells in your chest and you can't help but smile.

You may not be a lady, but you're a damn good shucker.

A glint in your peripherals steals your attention; you glance over towards the family inn and freeze when you see him. If they even are a him, anyway. You've heard that many female Mandalorians choose chest plates identical to the men's, and others don't adhere to the binary still upheld in these smaller corners of the galaxy. Either way, every time this antisocial guest checks in their presence consumes a significant portion of your attention. 

You stand, conscious of every move once you realize that their helmet is turned completely in your direction. Struck by a sudden wave of boldness, you pause to stare, locking contact with the dominating T-visor. The tension is held for a good three seconds before the bounty hunter turns, heading back towards their ship to continue their maintenance. Disappointment bubbles in your chest as you start moving towards the homestead, yanking your gloves off in annoyance.

Tonight. Tonight you face your desires head on. You don't care about the outcome, all that matters is the satisfaction of knowing that you're no coward.

You'll never get out of this place if you can't prove that to yourself.

"Keep your shoulders back you ungrateful harlot!" you mother hisses under her breath. Sighing, you balance the tray across your forearms and anchor it with your fingers. Tonight it's your turn to distribute the guest's dinners, and you've saved this one for last on purpose. The Mandalorian always stays out in their ship; they're only here for the amenities, like most of the other bounty hunters.

The sand shifts deceptively beneath your weight with each step, but you're used to it. You've been walking these sands ever since you learned to put one foot in front of the other, and you haven't fallen once in all those years.

The ship's ramp is already extended when you arrive. Grinding to a halt, you white-knuckle the tray and gnaw your lip. Fear of being seen as desperate or annoying burns deep in your gut, but it's too late to stop now. Footsteps approach and then that intriguing figure is standing right in front of you. 

According to the other workers, this one's not much for communication. Realizing that you'll have to start the conversation, you smile and struggle to keep the tremble out of your voice.

"It's vegetable stew tonight," you announce, holding it up to the mercenary and trying not to stare at the rifle slung across their back.

"Thank you," a deep voice returns. They nod then take the tray, but they don't turn around. 'Perhaps in their culture it's rude to turn your back on a host,' you think. 'Or maybe they just think I'll stab them if they do'.

"Are you a man?" you blurt, your nervousness ruining any attempt at tact. 

"......yes."

You nod, clearing your throat and sighing. "I didn't mean to offend. I was just curious. And I ah...I also want to ask if you'll have sex with me."

There. It's done. Even through the awkwardness, you feel yourself relax. You actually did it without pissing yourself or getting cold feet.

"I admire your straightforwardness," he says after a few heavy moments of silence. "Come in."

Your heart thuds and you can feel it sliding down to the pit of your stomach. 

To be honest, you hadn't seen yourself getting past this point.

You glance back at the inn and then follow him inside, only able to study the cold interior for a few moments before he's gesturing you down the only hallway in the craft. The bedroom is compact yet cozy in its own way. You note with a touch of surprise that he seems very fond of blankets; at least three are folded across the foot of the bed.

You step back and bump into him, mouth opening to apologize. But the words freeze in your throat when his hands come to rest on your hips, squeezing gently yet...possessively. A slight panic seizes you and you begin to wonder just what you've gotten yourself into. Mandalorians aren't exactly known for tenderness.

Your fears are allayed when his hands soften their grip, thumbs beginning to rub small circles into the top of your bottom. Instead of speaking, he begins walking, maneuvering you over to the edge of the bed until you're forced to wobble down onto it.

"Have you been with someone before?"

"No," you answer, voice small with anxiety. He takes note, helmet tilting towards you as he pulls open a small drawer. 

"Are you afraid?"

"....yes, but I still want this."

He nods, selecting a few items and then sitting next to you. It doesn't look like he's going to remove his armor and in all honesty that excites you even more. You study his fingers, dexterous even while hidden by gloves. He's clicking something closed, holding what looks like batteries in his palm.

"Sit," he says; it comes out like a command whether or not he intended it to. He taps his thigh then holds his hand out, slipping it up onto your shoulder as you obey. A thrill of arousal shivers down your spine at the contact, and the ache between your legs deepens. As soon as you're in his lap he pulls you close, slipping what you can only assume is a vibrator onto his thumb. Eagerly shifting your thighs open for him, you accidentally shove your leg into his groin. It doesn't hurt him, but the friction earns a small huff of pleasure. You feel yourself turn a deep hue of red; he'd felt big, even in that brief contact.

Then you feel his hand between your legs, the metal cold against your soft warmth. A rough gloved finger slides against your left lip and you gasp, the noise escalating into a shocked yelp when the vibrating toy comes down to settle over your clitoral hood.

"Oh, gods!" you gasp, clutching tightly to his cape and squeezing it as you ball your fist. You've touched yourself before, but you've never had access to a toy like this.

"Just relax. Breathe," he murmurs, helmet tilted down towards the wanton scene below him. He kicks the setting down a couple notches then begins swirling his thumb, gently dragging his textured fingers down over your lips until you buck against him, consumed by the lust now that his encouragement is dissolving the self consciousness. You gasp when a single finger slips inside your entrance. He hums in approval and you can't help but nuzzle up into the surprisingly soft material protecting his throat. A pressure builds deep inside you and almost as if he can sense it, he withdraws his hand and brings the vibrating nub up to your right nipple.

"KRIFF!" you yell, not caring if anyone else hears you. 

Suddenly, you're rolled out of his lap and onto your belly, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. You groan at the loss of stimulation but it's not even past your lips when you hear the crinkle of an ion condom wrapper. The faint buzz fills the room and you whimper, turning your head in an attempt to see what he's doing. But a palm comes down on your forehead and forcefully turns your face back down into the bed.

"I don't think so," he purrs. The shift in tone goes straight to your dripping heat, spurring a tiny moan of need. "A man has to keep his secrets."

A hand nudges at your hip and encourages you to lift yourself up for him; bottom in the air and front still resting on the mattress. You hear the soft thump of his boots as he settles himself, his armored thighs brushing you ever so slightly with the movement. Then you feel him, prodding into you until your slick entrance slips over his head.

"Ah!" you cry out, and he stops, allowing you to adjust then advancing inch by inch until he's fully seated. The ion mesh gives off the faintest of vibrations, but it's only just noticeable. It's tight enough that you can feel the definition of veins too, which in itself is almost enough to make you cum.

Gods, the stretch is almost too much.

But you bite your lip and push back against him, desperate to find release and more than ready for the challenge thanks to his preparation. His hips gyrate, meeting one of your own thrusts so hard that the smack of skin against metal is clearly audible. 

"More!" you rasp, reaching down to rub yourself while your hips are anchored in a steely grip. His hands are rancor traps, powerful even though they're not particularly large. You'll bruise later on, a visible memento of this glorious rendezvous. 

Despite his lack of communication, he's louder than you expected, working up a barely audible pant when the rhythm starts to increase. He shifts and you feel his knees rub against the backs of your thighs. The new angle reaches deep, deeper than you even thought possible. Just that sensation alone is enough to send you unexpectedly flying over the edge of your climax. The fluttering pulses of your orgasm reward his cock with a peak of his own; he stiffens against you, letting out two clipped moans before you feel him twitch, signifying his release.

"Oh gods," you waver, warmth spreading throughout your entire body when he reaches down to caress your ear. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

And with that he pulls out, peeling off the condom and neatly disposing of it. You catch a glimpse of him just before he tucks himself back inside: a flash of tan skin and a brief eyeful of an impressive shaft. Unable to help yourself, you feel slightly disappointed in how fast the exchange had been. But even while you forgot any sense of time, he had understood the need for you to get back quickly to keep your traditional family from becoming suspicious. So you follow suit, pushing down your frock and checking your appearance in his mirror before making your way towards the doorway. Before you exit, you stop, hurrying back to place a kiss on his visor. He says nothing in return yet allows the intimate touch to linger; it could be interpreted as cold but - considering his affiliation - the fact that he did not stop you speaks volumes.

Then you run, kicking up sand behind you and reveling in the high of your afterglow, realizing too late that you've forgotten to fetch the tray.

Oh well, it's no big deal.

After all, he may still want dessert.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr and Twitter: Maedhros36  
> I hope you enjoyed <333


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